


A Moment of Peace

by Huehxolotl



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: And questionable ways of dealing with it, Gen, Just two young leaders with lots of trauma, they aren't in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 02:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huehxolotl/pseuds/Huehxolotl
Summary: Hien and Lyse enjoy a rare conversation that doesn't involve the war, commiserate about all they have lost, and ponder the mysterious art of cooking.





	A Moment of Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Lyse and Hien are best buddies now and the lack of fics about this is offensive, so, uh, enjoy this short, hastily written story?

Hien is no stranger to battle, but to say that he is accustomed to war would be false. Aside from the constant boom of guns and weaponskills, the lingering scent of smoke and blood, and the unceasing tension in the air, he is also on foreign soil. The short-lived -if tide-turning- battles that he had taken part of simply cannot compare to the realities of a true war.

The waiting, he thinks, is the worst part.

Tired of his paperwork and his bed, he finds himself strolling about the encampment. Even in the dead of night, there is constant activity. Preparations being made for the next day, troops returning from their posts for a brief rest, groups of soldiers arguing around the fire about what they want to do first when they return home. _If_ they return home.

The divides between the troops are surprisingly defined. The Flames and Maelstrom troops huddle together, raucous laughter sounding as they play their card or dice games. The Ishgardian and Gridanian troops -the two city-states less..._accepting_ of foreigners- are more sedate, chatting as they eat and drink, eyeing each other warily when they aren’t scowling at the rowdier groups. The Domans and the Gyr Abanians -his people and Lyse’s people- are lively as well.

That surprises him, for his shinobi are not, by nature or by training, prone to overenthusiasm. He supposes it’s to be expected in a way. The indignities their respective nations have suffered - have only just been freed from- cannot be truly understood by the other soldiers. At the side of those who know the pain of tyranny, know loss and desperation, they are cheerful and at ease. The Gyr Abanians easily welcomed his people among them, and they have proven to work well together.

And speaking of…

Ignoring the fleeting thoughts of impropriety, he stops at Lyse’s tent -larger than the others yet smaller than a commander ought to have by his friend’s own decision- takes note of the light emanating from the tent, and quietly calls out.

“I’m up. Come on in.”

Lyse is sitting against her cot, surrounded by papers, maps, and small flags. Her casual clothing of shorts and sleeveless shirt leave no questions about the extent of her injuries. Bandages on her arm from her fight with Zenos, some on her right leg after a battle the other day, and fresh bruises on her forearms, shoulder, unbandaged shin. At any other time, he would be alarmed, but he knows he looks no better himself.

She grants him a weary smile and shoves some papers aside, motioning for him to sit next to her.

“Working this late at night?”

“I won’t tell the medics if you don’t,” she quips, then shudders at the thought of being forced back to the medical tents.

It’s a sentiment he shares, and he quickly agrees to her terms as he takes his seat. The alliance medics are disturbingly strong-willed when it comes to the health of their patients, and doubly so for various leaders. “The medics _or_ Raubahn,” he adds.

“He does seem to fuss a bit, doesn’t he?”

“Did you not mention that he has a penchant for adopting precocious orphans? It stands to reason that he may unconsciously be adding to his collection.”

“I wouldn’t use “precocious” to describe you, but if that’s how you feel.”

“Ahah! _Me_? There is more than one orphan in this room.”

Lyse wrinkles her nose, then they both laugh. Oh, how he enjoys the easy conversations they share, the teasing and joking. Yugiri is far too serious for such things, as are most of his closest companions and retainers, and Gosetsu is long gone on his travels. Few dare to be so friendly to their king, and he has found it to be one of the greatest sacrifices in taking the throne.

His father once told him that ruling is something that must be done alone; words he never truly understood until he took the throne himself. The difference between “trusted advisor” and “friend” is a long one, he has come to realize. It’s daunting to face that, in the end, his decisions are his alone.

“I’ve never been good at waiting,” Lyse sighs after their laughter fades. “If I sit still, I have time to think, and worry. I’d rather be out helping, but I don’t have that option in war. There’s only so much I can do as a commander. Everyone acts so weird when I try and help with menial tasks!”

He chuckles, imagining the horror the soldiers likely felt at their _commander_ trying to help them polish gear or take inventory. “I seem to recall you sleeping quite soundly the night before Doma’s liberation.”

“That’s because I wore myself out making sure everyone was armed. There was so much to do, and not nearly enough time to get it done.”

Oh, he remembers it well. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine being back in the House of the Fierce, can hear the soft clatter of his shinobi preparing for battle and hear Gosetsu’s booming voice, can taste his drink, can feel his lingering aches from the Naadam. Lyse had indeed been busy in the time leading up to the battle, running from person to person, taking inventory of their gear and, in some cases, easing their anxiety. She had been a favorite among the shinobi, and even Yugiri was less tense in her presence; is_ still_, except for when Lyse is throwing herself into danger to protect his own life.

“Truthfully, I am of the same mind. Doma was occupied before my birth, and I was never sent to fight their wars as Gosetsu was. As so many of my people were. My father hated bowing to the demands of the empire, but what choice did he have?"

He wonders how many Doman conscripts were sent to Ala Mhigo, how many of his countrymen were forced to contribute to the misery of Lyse's countrymen. With the little care the empire afforded their subjugated soldiers, to be conscripted was to be sentenced to death. Why waste "superior" Garlean soldiers when they can send out trash and savages?

"...What was he like? Your father."

The question startles him, but there is a genuine curiosity in his friend's gaze. She has no family, he remembers suddenly, having slowly lost them -and those loved as such- through the years. He doesn’t know the specifics, but Yugiri and Lyse herself have hinted at the losses the woman has endured.

“The weight of his decisions, and the loss of my mother, sat heavy on him. Even so, I was never made to feel anything less than loved.”

As he speaks of his childhood, of how his father trained him, raised him with compassion, and was truly a romantic at heart, he realizes that this is the first time he has spoken of his father at such length since the failed revolt. The pain had been too fresh during his time with the Mol -_with Cirina_\- and there hasn’t been enough time since his return and the subsequent freedom of his people.

How ironic that he has found the time to speak of bittersweet memories in the middle of a _war_.

“I don’t remember my father, really. It was always Yda who looked out for me. It was hard on her, I know. We wandered for months, to Gridania who rejected us all the way to Sharlayan.” She has long abandoned her paperwork, hugging her knees while she listened to his stories. Now, she drops her head on her knees and takes a shaky breath. “I was too young to be anything but a burden, and even after we were taken in, she was always working. Studying. Training. I was awful at school, and I couldn’t work, but I could train. I could...become strong someday. Strong like her.”

Lyse talks of Yda. Of Papalymo. Of Moenbryda. Friends as dear as family, all lost to her. It seems there is no end to the pain in their lives, each victory marred by the lives it cost.

How many more will this one cost? Assuming victory is within their grasp. They can’t afford to relax, even if they _have _fought the Empire to a stalemate. How can they be sure of anything, with Zenos alive and in fighting shape, and the Scions out of commission? It seems as if they are ever dealing with ever increasing trouble. When one problem is fixed, another arises immediately after.

He -and Lyse, he knows- will face their trials with heads held high and weapons at ready. No matter what comes next.

He only wishes their trials and tribulations would come at a much..._slower_ pace.

“I think the only time I ever saw her truly mad is when I got lost in the wilds. I kinda...tried to turn a wild animal into a mount… It _sort of_ worked, but I was lost for two days.”

“A handful, were you? Hahaha! I wish I could say I was less rambunctious myself. Though never lost, I must admit that I destroyed portions of the castle in my training enthusiasm.”

“I lit our apartment on fire once or...twice. Okay, technically three times but nothing burned! Cooking is _hard_.”

“Sadly, my attempts at baking as a child ended in similar tragedy. Cakes are rather more difficult than they seem.”

“Yda is the one who ruined our first and only attempt at a cake. It was the first time I’ve ever seen her fail so miserably at something.”

“I can relate. Cirina was unimpressed with my cooking during my early days with the Mol. I’ve no nose for seasonings, apparently.”

“Papalymo always complained that I undercooked my steak, but it was edible! Even if I never did get the hang of seasonings.”

“How are we to know what the right amount is?”

“I’m not sure. Do we season it before? During? After?”

“Soup is far simpler.”

“Oh! Have you ever tried-”

“Lyse! Have you seen! ...Uh. Lord. Hien?”

They both jump at Yugiri’s frantic entrance into the tent, the three of them staring in silence as they process their situation.

“...Here I am?”

“...He’s right here?”

Yugiri continues to be severely confused and intensely curious, her questions held back by politeness alone. Weak sunlight outlines her form and flows into the tent.

After the fourth time she attempts to speak and fails, Lyse and he share a look, then begin laughing.

“Apologies! But!”

“Your expression!”

They laugh until they cannot breathe, leaning against each other for support. Their reaction is hardly appropriate, but he blames the lack of sleep, food, and medications.

“Oh. I think it’s time for my morning potions,” he groans, holding his side.

Lyse waves her arm at her desk. “Have some of mine. They’re the same, I think. Nasty purple, tingly green, and smooth yellow are in the drawer.”

“Hmm. Do you think the healers would notice if I skipped purple for a day?”

“My lord!”

“They’d find out somehow. ...They always do.”

“I fear you are correct. Yugiri, would you lend me a hand?”

His back and legs protest standing, and he swears the world spins for a moment. “I think it time we acquire food, rather than speak of it.”

The offer is accepted without hesitation, though Lyse declares that she will meet them after she cleans up the paperwork and -hopefully- returns it before Raubahn notices she overworked again. Yugiri follows him without comment, despite her lingering curiosity. She may not believe in the strict rules of propriety that the elders of Doma do, but finding him in a women’s tent might be much even for her.

“I have not seen her laugh so hard since Moenbryda’s arrival to the Rising Stones,” Yugiri says eventually. Her tone is soft, almost bittersweet. “She used to laugh often, smile easier. The losses, the battles, they have taken their toll. And the same can be said of you.”

“For all of us,” he corrects. “We all have changed from the people we were a year ago, but we are stronger, and wiser, from our trials. We need only time to heal.”

“...You would heal much faster if you slept properly.”

“Was that a _reproach_? My, you have become bold.”

A huff is her answer to his lighthearted teasing, and she refuses to speak until he volunteers to prepare a plate of food for Lyse. She promptly lists the foods their friend is partial too, then takes over, piling a decent sized portion of meat into the bowl. He is considering teasing Yugiri about her unusual mothering behavior when Lyse joins them.

“From the look on your face, I would say that you were caught.”

“Ugh. Yeah, he was already in the command tent. What’s he doing up so early anyway?”

“You were.”

“I never slept. It doesn’t count.”

“Sound argument, my friend.”

“The healers will not be so understanding.”

“Only if they’re _told_.”

They share banter and more tales, and he reassures himself that once they drive the empire away, once they get their countries back on track, then they will surely heal from the wounds life has seen fit to scar their hearts with.


End file.
